She nodded, participating in this nonexistent dialogue.
“However, it became exacerbation of his punishment. It made his sen- tence unendurable. Indeed it was a mercy worse than none. He knew it, and condemned himself regardless.”
Again a nod, tinged this time with terror.
“Yet you took pity on him!”
“Yes, I did!”-defiantly. “And I still feel the same!” “You were the first to do so in a thousand years.”
For an instant she stood rigid. Then:
“I can’t have been!”
“He told me so when I interrogated him, invoking a power greater than any god’s. Not once, till he met you, had anyone felt pity for his plight.”
“Then I weep for our sick world!” Jarveena cried-and abruptly it was true. Tears that had so long been unfamiliar to her flowed as freely down her face as they had last night.
“And well you may,” the illusory Enas Yorl confirmed.
There was a pause.
“For you have worked a miracle.”
“I don’t understand.” Snuffling, fighting to regain control, Jarveena resumed the donning of her clothes.
“How are your scars today?”
“Why ask? You cleared them, didn’t you? And took away the one I’d thought of keeping!”
“Not I, Jarveena, but yourself.”
She froze in midmovement, bending to strap her boots.
“Go forth, as soon as you are dressed, into the street. Do not ask why;
you will at once find out. I worked a greater magic than I knew. For the moment, then: goodbye. Don’t try to call on me until I send for you. The names I give my basilisks are daily changed. Sometimes I cannot give them names pronounceable by human tongues- That’s why I have not spoken words to you this morning . . .”